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Being Robin is a responsibility Tim takes very seriously. It's important that he stays useful, that the pros to having him around outweigh the cons, so that he can continue to keep Bruce from destroying himself (and maybe so that he can keep Bruce and Alfred and everyone else in his life, though that selfish thought isn't one Tim likes to linger on).
It's this single-minded dedication to his duty that reminds him to consume enough protein to build muscle, to stretch before and after training, to drink plenty of water, etc. It reminds him to look after himself and keep his body in optimal condition for vigilantism.
Unfortunately, though he is extremely loath to admit it, he still cannot control everything, and this is a fact that looms over him, haunting his very being. The haunting is especially bad at night, where the shadows of his failures and shortcomings come out to taunt him under the cover of the night’s shadow.
Like now, for instance. It's 5am and Tim cannot sleep; he merely tosses and turns in some kind of desperate need for reprieve. It's times like these that Tim truly hates his brain despite all of the good it's done for him. What's the point of having having a mind as quick as a whip when it doesn't know when to shut the fuck up?
Infuriatingly, said mind is currently using this time to remind Tim of how important a good sleep schedule is– how his place as Robin is reliant on his quick instincts, which is reliant on his ability to think clearly, which is reliant on him getting enough sleep, which is currently impossible because he's thinking too goddamn quickly. Tim decides here and now that he despises catch-22s.
A perfectly timed ping from his phone serves as a stellar distraction from his plight. He grabs the device, squinting against its glaring brightness as he tries to read the notification, opening his phone to a message
from Conner:
Clone boy
hey you ok?? your hearts going crazy rn but you said you got back from patrol at 2???
Wonder boy
Wtf why are you awake? And I'm fine don't worry just can't sleep haha
Clone boy
its saturday gotta feed the chickens
Clone boy
want me to come sing you a lullaby :D
Wonder boy
You're ridiculous, enjoy feeding the chickens
Clone boy
nah I already did that I like to checkup on your heartbeat afterwards make sure youre
ok yknow
Tim has to take a minute after that, trying desperately to get the heartbeat in question under control, though it’s admittedly quite comforting for his heart to be insane over Conner rather than anxious spiralling. He looks back at his phone after another ping:
Clone boy
honestly idm flying round if you need someone to come tire you out ;)
Tim fights desperately against the heat burning his cheeks.
Wonder boy
You're exhausting 🙄🙄
Clone boy
jks but srsly idm coming over if you want some company
Wonder boy
Seriously I'm fine I swear, don't worry about me
Clone boy
somehow I don't believe that
Clone boy
cmooooonnn I miss you anyway so really youd be doing me a favour
Wonder boy
…Fine
Clone boy
cya soon ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎
Resigned to his (unfortunately very appealing fate) Tim does a quick once over of his bedroom to make sure it's presentable enough. There's a few used mugs on his bedside table and his desk is barely visible under all of the folders and sheets of paper, but all in all the room has seen worse.
Just as Tim starts debating whether or not to find a T-shirt to throw on, there's a tapping noise coming from his window. Tim looks up to come eye to eye with Conner, looking wonderfully windswept, a healthy pink painting his cheeks.
Tim unlocks and opens the window, locking it again after Conner’s back inside. He turns to the man in question, letting himself shamelessly ogle Conner’s relaxed form settling itself against his bedsheets.
“Mornin’ pumpkin,” Conner drawls, stretching his arms out in the universal gesture of come here. Tim grins in spite of himself, kind of hating how easily he flushes at the southern endearment. Still, he can't let Conner know how much he likes it; what would be the fun in that?
“Pumpkin?” Tim asks, playing the part of incredulity but still allowing himself to fall gracelessly beside Conner, curling himself into his warm, unyielding side.
“Would Sugar work better for ya? Honey buns, maybe?” Conner smiles at him and oh fuck Tim is so stupidly gone for him it's embarrassing. “You're so sweet when you're tired,” Conner says, his smile growing as Tim nuzzles into his neck, “so cuddly too.”
“Cuddly? As if,” Tim scoffs while undeniably cuddling Conner, one arm struggling to pull the covers over the two of them. Conner gently nudges his hand away and lays his own against the duvet, TTK pulling it up before settling it over their shoulders. Tim kisses his cheek in a wordless gesture of thanks.
“So,” Conner starts, tone moving from amusement and coming dangerously close to serious, “rough night, huh?” His smile is unbearably soft as he twirls a piece of Tim’s hair between his fingers, so Tim settles his face back against Conner’s neck.
“I don't know, I just–” Tim cuts himself off with a frustrated groan and reaches out to give one of Conner’s hands an unnecessarily gentle squeeze– “I've been having trouble sleeping I guess. It’s
like the more I try and sleep, the more my brain reminds me of the fact I'm not asleep yet and how much sleep I'm missing out on and how badly I need to sleep and how-”
“Woah woah,” Conner rushes out, free hand coming up to scratch his fingers against Tim’s scalp, “you're spiralling a li’l here, sweetheart, let's take a few deep breaths, yeah?” When Tim nods, Conner brings the hand holding Tim’s to his chest, taking deep, soothing breaths. He doesn't stop until Tim’s heart rate has slowed and his breathing has evened out.
“Sorry,” Tim mutters, distantly hoping he hadn't woken anyone with his little outburst. Even through his embarrassment and slight worry, though, he feels himself relaxing against Conner again.
“Don't apologise, Doll face,” Conner says, grinning at Tim’s resulting blush like the asshole he is, “mind if I try something Ma used to do with me when I couldn't sleep?” Tim nods, enjoying the soft fondness that always overtakes Conner’s face when he talks about Mrs Kent.
“Ok, comfy?” Conner asks, adjusting them slightly so that his arms are wrapped securely around Tim’s body before kissing his forehead. At Tim’s answering nod he smiles tenderly and drops a second kiss against his forehead. Then, he starts softly humming, moving one hand up to cradle Tim’s head gently against his chest.
And oh, Tim kind of wants to cry. It's not like he's not been held similarly before, whether by Conner himself or someone else, but something about the darkness of the room, the near-reverent way Conner watches him as he hums, alongside Tim’s sleep-deprived brain has him feeling especially sappy. It's his favourite kind of vulnerability, to let someone else in, and trust them to treat him with kindness and care.
It seems to come so easily to Conner, this sort of gentle affection, that Tim forgets sometimes how he came into this world, forgets how hard Conner has worked to soften the sharp edges forced upon him in a cold, sterile lab. He cannot fathom anyone ever looking at Kon-el and seeing a mere number, much less a weapon.
“Tim,” Conner whispers, the hums vibrating through his chest coming to a halt, “you're in your head again, love, which is the opposite of what we're going for here.”
“Sorry,” Tim whispers back, more sheepish this time.
“There's no need to be sorry, I just want to try and help as best I can.”
“You just being here is helping,” Tim admits, bringing his arms up to press against Conner’s chest, “my heartbeat should be proof of that.”
Tim just manages to catch Conner’s soft smile before it’s pressed against the steady pulse in his wrist. “Just focus on my voice,” Conner mutters and presses his nose to Tim’s. And then, he does something Tim couldn't have predicted.
He starts singing.
Tim doesn't think he's heard the song before, though it sounds like it’s the same song as the tune Conner had been humming before. Conner sings it in a hushed voice, barely more than a whisper, and Tim finds himself entranced.
He settles his head firmly against Conner’s chest and lets his boyfriend’s steady singing lull him to sleep, a warm smile tugging against his lips.
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧
Tim wakes, unsurprisingly, to an empty bed. This is completely commonplace, yet something in the back of his barely-awake mind bristles at the fact, confusing Tim. He picks up his phone to check the time and does a double take at the ‘13:43’ staring back at him.
That's when he realises why he'd been confused, and he's quick to throw on a random T-shirt and shuffle into
his slippers before rushing down the stairs in search of Conner.
He finds him in the dining room, seated between Jason and Cass at the table and looking completely at home. As Tim looks around he realises he's missing Saturday lunch– the one everyone is supposed to attend unless there's an emergency. He grimaces at the thought of the lecture Bruce is sure to deliver later.
“Little brother,” Cass calls out, smiling softly at Tim and waving him over. Tim smiles back, pressing a kiss to her cheek before sliding into the empty seat on her left.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Bruce quips from his place at the head of the table, Dick to his right and Damian to his left. “I'll grab the plate Alfred made for you from the kitchen.” And before Tim could protest and get his own plate, Bruce was gone, leaving Tim at the mercy of the rest of his family.
“Sleep well, Tim?” Dick asks, tone unbearably earnest in the quiet room. Kon looks over at him then, smiling proudly, yet somehow managing not to look smug at all. Tim was horrified to feel his face warming, but rolled his eyes and smiled back in spite of himself.
“Yeah, I slept pretty well, thanks, you?" That earned a snort from Jason, who had stayed surprisingly quiet since Tim came in. “Something funny, Jay?” Tim asks, knowing it’s better to let Jason get the teasing out of his system straight away.
“Just wondering what time Lover boy here snuck in last night and just how much sleeping was going on considering how long you slept in,” Jason grins, his fork laid half hazardly across his plate.
“Hah hah,” Tim deadpans, though the warmth of his face undoubtedly gives him away. He risks a glance over at Conner to see he's not faring much better, ears burning a colour rather similar to his Red Robin costume. “I couldn't get to sleep, that's all. Conner helped.”
“Yeah I'll bet he did,” Jason huffed in that amused drawl of his, eyes alight with glee. It'd be endearing if it wasn't so frustrating and just shy of mocking.
“I'm glad he could help,” Dick cuts in, clearly trying to be comforting but succeeding only in embarrassing Tim worse. He'd leave if not for Bruce grabbing him some food and Conner’s presence at the table.
“I'm great at getting people to sleep.” Speak of the devil, Tim thinks miserably, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “I've had plenty of practice with Jon.” Conner smiles, voice infuriatingly fond and genuine. Jason snorts again.
Fortunately, Bruce reappears before Jason can comment, silently placing Tim’s plate down in front of him before retaking his seat. “What are we talking about?” He asks and Tim rethinks how fortunate his coming back really is.
“Just Timbit and Superboy’s nighttime activities,” Jason says, grinning ear to ear as Cass pinches his shoulder.
“Mean,” is Cass’s only comment before she goes back to eating. Damian makes a loud noise of disgust, but seems determined to focus on anything but this conversation.
“I see,” Bruce says, tone carefully neutral. Tim once again wishes the ground would swallow him whole and silently begs Conner to just stay quiet. He's an idiot for even hoping for Conner to keep his mouth shut.
“I promise you, Mr Wayne, sir, nothing happened with your son. I mean, I did stay over, but, I mean, we didn't do anything. Not like- we didn't do do anything I swear-”
“Please stop talking,” Tim groans as Bruce chuckles quietly.
“It's quite alright, Conner, I know Jason is just teasing,” Bruce says and Tim keeps his gaze stubbornly on his plate, desperately avoiding the endeared look undoubtedly at home on Bruce’s face. “And please, call me Bruce.”
As Tim’s eyes catch Conner’s small, pleased smile, he thinks maybe his family's goading is worth it just to see that contentment in his boyfriend's features. Plus, this is the best he's slept in weeks, and he can't help but be grateful for Conner helping him take care of himself in this way.